"Oh, what will your father say! You know he wanted us to go to
California; but you would come South. After Mr. Wickersham told you of
his place, nothing else would satisfy you."

"Oh, papa! You know I can settle him," said the girl.

Mrs. Yorke began to lament the wretchedness of a region where there was
no doctor of reputation.

"There is a very fine surgeon in the village. Dr. Balsam is one of the
best surgeons anywhere," said Keith.

"Oh, I know that old man. No doubt, he is good enough for little common
ailments," said Mrs. Yorke, "but in a case like this! What does he know
about surgery?" She turned back to her daughter. "I shall telegraph your
father to send Dr. Pilbury down at once."

Keith flushed at her manner.

"A good many people have to trust their lives to him," he said coldly.
"And he has had about as much surgical practice as most men. He was in
the army."

The girl began again to belittle her injury.

It was nothing, absolutely nothing, she declared.

"And besides," she said, "I know the Doctor. I met him the other day. He
is a dear old man." She ended by addressing Keith.